Haunts
by Jimmy the Gothic Egg
Summary: A night in a haunted house is as surprising as it can get, especially when the ghost you expected isn't quite Casper. AU
1. Little Boys

This idea so randomly popped into my head. I had the majority of the story worked out in two seconds.

Now I just need to write it.

Great.

((The prologue is short. I apologize. Other chapters will be longer.))

_Haunts_

**Prologue: Little Boys**

In the small suburbs of Jump City, specifically on a certain street with a certain "haunted" house, there is a ritual most of the little boys go through.

Six little boys stood outside the gates of the old, dead house. Gar wrapped his hand around the iron bars, wondering if the stories they'd shared were true.

As it was Gar's tenth Halloween on this earth, the other little boys had convinced him to do the usual ritual. Each year, some poor, unsuspecting victim was sent up to the door, where they would knock, wait for it to open, and, if it did, "Trick-or-Treat" as they tried not to wet their pants.

So far, in the existence of the house (so far as Gar and his friends had been told, as this ritual was beyond their own years and into their elder brothers' and sisters' and even some of their parents') no one had ever answered the door, but shuffling could be heard within, the occasional spooky noise or two. Their parents would tell them it was normal for old houses to make that noise, in which the elder sibling might point out that they said that in horror movies too, and have you ever seen those end happily?

But it was Gar's turn to undergo the ritual, and he was far unprepared for it. Still, he clutched his candy bag, sucked in a breath, and pushed open the gate, wincing at the creaks. The pathway to the door seemed longer than it should have been, with strange overgrown weeds wrapping over the broken concrete. It wasn't dark with the streetlights on every corner, five flashlights pointed at him, and his own straight ahead, but it was certainly dark enough. The moon gave no more light than it should have. (It was the suburbs after all.)

Gar's steps were slow and steady. He watched the ground, and for a little while he stared into the dead grass and garden of weeds, watching for uncertain shapes or slithering movements. It was still the age where vampires and witches peered through your window and the scariest thing he'd ever read was _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_. But eventually he reached the porch, climbing onto the old and rotted wood as he held a fist inches above the door.

If he did not do this—at least one knock and ten seconds wait—he would be the coward of the year. Still, he felt so little compared to the giant knocker the size of his head he was staring up at, and in a moment of panic, he confused himself into ramming himself into the door.

Gar's panic instantly grew, and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding in a breath. He could feel his friends staring at him, their flashlights like unworldly lights peering at him in the cover of dark.

Then, nothing happened.

Gar opened his eyes and stared at the paint-chipped green door, wondering if he hadn't been loud enough to shake up any ghosts.

(Well, if that hadn't been loud enough, he wasn't sure if he could do much else.)

Slowly, Gar turned around, trying not to sprint back to safety. When he regrouped with his friends, he shrugged his shoulders, telling them it couldn't be anything more than an empty house. He'd heard no noises inside, and no one had answered, so maybe it was better to leave it alone.

(For now. What good was Halloween if they couldn't force terrified boys into their utter doom?)

It had been a night of success for Garfield Logan. He'd embraced it, thanking whatever guardian watched over him, and spent the next week in a continuous sugar rush.

What he had not suspected that night of terror and triumph was that, seven years later, he would be staring at the same house all over again.


	2. Double Dog Dare

This is what I originally started with before I made the prologue chapter.

_Haunts_

**Chapter One: Double Dog Dare**

Upon recollection, Gar really should've seen this coming.

All his short, unfulfilled life, Garfield Logan had lived three houses down and across the street from the creepy broken down home no one lived in.

(Well, there were rumors a witch lived there, but those were just stupid stories they made up as kids to explain the upstairs light turning on when no one ever saw a car approach or anyone enter or leave.)

(They honestly didn't seem so stupid now.)

As a child (so happy and innocent), there had been dares to reach up and stand on the porch or knock on the door or just peer through a window to see inside. (An old childhood chum once swore somebody knocked back. Though he probably just said it because he ran screaming down the street two seconds later.)

They had outgrown stupid pranks and dares like that though. Now it was all beer-drinking and peer-pressuring to do stuff that got you arrested. (Gar was small and fast enough to get away though. He'd gotten good at that.)

He admitted it. He was the tiniest bit tipsy. Halloween consisted of the usual wild costume parties (he'd dyed his hair green, wore all black, and called it a night), but somehow they'd ended up back here, staring into the face of doom.

Remembering his tenth Halloween, his friends had convinced him to once again travel into the unknown. They didn't go in the front (because that's what all the little kids were doing, and they were big boys now), instead sliding to the side for a little breaking and entering.

(He couldn't remember how he agreed to it. Though he had eaten two whole bags of Smarties and chugged one or two beers. That could've been a cause.)

But here he was, slithering in through the cellar window (only he was big enough to fit), coughing up dust and trying to find the perfect artifact to take back.

And now he was trying to proclaim his innocence to a house.

Yes, two minutes in, and he realized he might've trespassed on more than just a house. All he'd seen so far were taped up boxes and dusty portraits, but there was something almost… _sacred_ about the artifacts. He almost decided to grab the nearest thing and climb back out, but then he heard something that stopped him.

Footsteps.

It wasn't the footsteps of children too scared to climb onto the rotted wooden porch, or anything outside the house. No.

They were coming from inside.

Right above him, best he could tell. Of course his instincts screamed at him: _Run away. Some crazy hermit loner obviously lives here so turn around before you get shot or he calls the police._

And then Gar's curious side took over.

It was a curse, really. He couldn't leave well enough alone. The worst thoughts ran through his mind (serial killer, burglar, maybe a ghost or two), but he managed to find the stairs and climb up them, peeking through the door before stepping into the main part of the house.

It was just as dusty and old as downstairs (less so, because it was probably lived in more.) A heavy chandelier hung down, spider webs streaming away from it as webs covered the spaces between lamps. He'd come out from beneath a stairway, one that looked too dangerous to climb. A molted rug covered the steps and continued out to the doorway. The windows were dirty and impossible to see out of. It wasn't completely dark. Something was illuminating it, though he couldn't quite tell what. He carefully walked into the next room, finding a beautiful marble kitchen.

It was marble and wood merged so beautifully together, it almost seemed like someone still lived there. In fact, as he leaned forward, examining the cupboards and counters carefully, a lot of the dust had been wiped away, showing clear signs of a recent visitor.

(He wasn't Sherlock, but he wasn't stupid either.)

This fact only proved to peak his curiosity further, as he continued to explore the home. The main room was wide with a heavy fireplace and a loveseat pushed beside a bookcase. A C-shaped couch curled before the fireplace, and a chess table was set up with large wooden pieces. They were already moved in discontinued game, and he picked up a knight that had fallen over, putting it back in place. The game showed signs of recent usage as well, and he stared at the bookshelf a minute, which showed no sign of dust at all. In fact, most of the books looked well used and read. He fingered one, a leather bound red one that had spidery gold writing that he couldn't read. He didn't bother to actually open it, deciding the words weren't worth his time. He was more interested in the mystery guest the house seemed to host, and sincerely hoped it wasn't a spectral spirit of any kind.

The next room was a dining hall with one of those impossibly long tables. The chairs had indented into the rug (he saw this has he pulled them back), and he instantly let them resume their positions. It was not his place to change the seats. For all he knew the guest had friends, and their party was all planned out.

The main rooms were searched well and hard. Gar now stood at the base of the same staircase, staring up at the chandelier as he tried to determine his next course of action. Certainly the footsteps were of the mystery guest he'd yet to uncover, but he wasn't quite ready to brave the stairs. They would most likely give in to any weight put upon them, and he'd rather not die because no one was around to call 911 after he broke his arm.

He strolled over to hat rack beside the door, touching an old hat that had been left abandoned. It was a testament to its time and its owner, because he surely felt some spirit hanging off it. He pursed his lips at indecision and decided to reach for the nearest door to see where it would take him. This door happened to be a closet, which happened to be filled with musty jackets and dresses and boots and a surprise he had not quite anticipated.

That was, of course, when the ghost launched upon him.

**Notes:**

Hm. Chapters still not quite as long. I guess I don't have to leave it as a cliffhanger, but that's the main reason I write fanfiction: the torturing of characters _and_ readers.

**Review, or Gar will be eaten by a ghost.**


	3. Not So Friendly Ghosts

I'm sure most of you figured out it was not a ghost. To those who'd rather believe, I've got two words for you:

Rock on.

_Haunts_

**Chapter Two: Not-So-Friendly Ghosts**

Gar was certain she was a ghost.

Her hair was an obsidian black, her skin was abnormally pale, and her eyes were sharper and darker than any blue he'd ever come across.

Then he thought: maybe a local hooligan. She had a dark blue sweatshirt on, hood over her face.

All he really knew was that he was on the floor, and she was on top of him.

(She was definitely on top of him. He thought it might rule out the ghost aspect, though he really wasn't sure which he preferred.)

"You aren't allowed in here," she hissed. "It's _private property_."

He frowned, not really certain what he should be doing at that moment. "Then what are you doing here?"

(_That's right_, he chided himself, _Make friends with the delinquent. _Well, she looked dangerous the way she was staring at him. He half expected to burst into flames under that gaze.)

After a few minutes of scrutiny beneath her stare, she stood up, carefully closing the closet door.

"I live here," she finally said.

An absolute lie, if Gar ever heard one. Just that she had the audacity to think she could get away with it strengthened his belief she was hear to rob and probably wouldn't mind killing the owner.

"Yeah?" he shot back with his own special brand of sarcasm (though her lie had been delivered in a deadpanned voice.) "And I moved in with Frankenstein."

She didn't turn to him, just brushed off her jeans and walked into the kitchen area he'd seen before.

"Hey!" he called after her, confused and irritated. He caught up with her, grabbing her shoulder, in which she swatted him away, still not bothering to look at him. "What are you really doing here?"

He wished she hadn't looked, because now he was being cut by that glare again.

"I'm not here to steal," she huffed. "No one's lived here for half a century anyway. But I spend more time here than I do home. So why shouldn't I live here?"

She said it with child's logic that made him think she was spending too much time around dust fumes. Still, he decided to drop the whole "living here" idea and move on.

"What's your name?" he asked (with authority! Hmph. His buzz may be gone but there were still two—or three—beers running in him.)

If looks could kill he'd be six feet under, and his ghost would be screaming in pain.

"You don't get to ask me questions," she snapped. "Why are _you_ here? Another stupid dare?"

(He decided it was a rhetorical question.)

"God," she muttered, pulling up a stool. "Every Halloween some idiot boys crawl in here. Bang a few shutters and they're wetting the floor as they run."

"How long have you been 'living' here?" He didn't know why he was interrogating her like this. He should probably just go back to his drunk friends.

Her glare softened for a fraction of a second before she sat down with a sharp gesture that made him wince. "Since I was six and first broke in here."

Ha! She admitted her crime! (Though they shared the same one.) He leaned on the counter, studying her. "Why do you come _here_? It's dirty and old and probably won't hold up next time we have… _wind_."

Her gaze shifted to the dead floorboards. "I like it here. Quiet with plenty of books. Have you seen the library!" Her face brightened, and he had never seen someone show such enthusiasm for literature before. "No one has private libraries like that anymore. The books are impossible to find except to those who place them, and I can find one book, read it, and the next time I want to try it again, its disappeared!" Suddenly she remembered herself and went back to glowering. "And people stopped caring about this house a long time ago. The only ones who visit are teenagers and kids."

Her distaste for him was growing, he could tell. It wasn't even his fault.

"I guess so," he muttered. "But you aren't… creeped out? Maybe I'm just paranoid, but this house…"

For a second he thought she was smiling. "I've noticed it too. I don't know what it is. It sounds horribly clichéd, but there's definitely _something_. Why do you think everyone calls it 'haunted?'"

"I thought it was because it _looked_ like a spooky house."

Her glare returned, but it wasn't quite as sharp. "So why _are_ you here? You don't look at all comfortable."

He chuckled nervously. "…A stupid dare. I still don't know how I ended up doing it."

"Well there's alcohol on your breath for one thing," she mumbled so quietly he almost didn't catch it.

There was something really embarrassing about that fact, but he tried to hide it. This was not a normal girl. She did not rely on the two extremes as most women did. She was different from any other girl he'd met.

"Oh yeah," he said. "You never answered my question. What's your name?"

She stared at him a minute. "What's yours?"

"Gar," he answered. "Not like the cat," he added. She was quick to infer "Garfield" (the dreaded name), and a smile was definitely there that time.

"Fine." She nodded, as if showing her approval of him. "I'm Raven."

And that's when he knew what kind of trouble he was getting into.


	4. Death Marks

_Haunts_

**Chapter Three: Death Marks**

There are your usual high school clichés.

You've got pretty boys, jocks, hot cheerleaders, goth kids, etc. etc. They all fit into the basic social ladder, sometimes intertwining, most of the time not. Usually it's fairly simple to figure out where you are based on how the A-listers treat you. (The higher up on the ladder, the more chance of working at McDonalds or Wal-Mart, or becoming a porn star, depending on your gender.)

And then, beside the ladder, is the bucket, where all the misfit kids come to play.

And at school, the biggest misfit of all was the affectionately named Goth Roth.

She did not talk, associate, date, party, hang out, or do any_thing_ with any_one_. She has been seen sitting, reading. In every class, in every lunch, in every off chance someone might've seen her, Raven Roth was in love with her books.

Those of the outside culture didn't even talk with her. Most had learned to band together (forming their own little gang that scared half the school), but not Raven. She was much better off on her own.

It was of course people's nature to get involved. Stories leaked out of a criminal record, bad blood in the family (that most certainly leaked down to her), even freaky stories of witchcraft and rituals she may or may not be doing. Counselors sat down with her at off hours, but even when she was forced into the Peer Support program (a stupid group the teachers had made up so loner kids would be forced into helping kids with problems, and more often a form of punishment, especially for popular kids who couldn't afford a detention), she just sat down and read her books, letting the teachers or unlucky student chatter on for an hour before she was sent back to class.

After a while, they gave up. Goth Roth went to the back of everyone's mind, just there for the occasional jeer or taunt, in which she responded by flipping the page in her latest novel.

And now Gar was sitting down with her as she pulled a lunchbox out of nowhere, revealing snacks and drink.

"…Raven," he repeated, trying to force indifference.

There was no such luck.

She bristled instantly, slamming a mug of something hot against the counter, chipping it away.

"Yes," she bit, causing him to draw back. "_Raven._ Or would you rather call me _Goth Roth_? It doesn't matter, though. I bet your friends would be just as happy to hear you sat down with such a _freak_ and made pleasant conversation." She gave a violent twist to the mug. "Maybe tell them I performed a ritual with a goat head and a little baby sacrifice. I'll paint pentagrams with blood on the walls, if that makes you feel better. That's why you came up here anyway." She tipped the contents into the cap, and he noticed steam rise. "For _stories_. Another _triumph_. What are you going to do with your life when all you've got is tall tales?" Her outburst ended as she slammed the mug back down and took a swig of whatever was within. She held it out to him. "Tea?"

"What?" He jumped at the liquid. At this point he was sure she was going to poison him or do something crazy. She'd yet to debunk _that_ rumor.

She stared at him as if he were stupid. "Tea. Brown liquid, tastes good with some sugar or honey. Keeps me up all night, but that's fine."

He eyed the cup carefully. "No… thanks."

She shrugged, taking another sip. "Sorry. I get… defensive."

Defensive was not the word he was thinking. Insane was more like it. "How often do you come here?" It was better to change the subject. Being burned with hot tea was not the way he wanted to go.

She titled her head away from him, brushing hair out of her face. "Every day, just about. Sometimes I can't, but sometimes I spend nights here."

He raised an eyebrow then scolded himself. _Be nice. She might bite your head off._ "Have you ever been upstairs?"

For some reason, she seemed to relax a bit. More talking about the house. Good.

"Yeah. When I was little I was too scared to climb up. It's not so bad. Just… creaks."

"What's up there?"

"You can't find out for yourself?"

For all her talk about dares, there was one in her voice. Damn his showmanship. But he shrugged. "I'd rather you just tell me."

A smirk flitted across her features. "Bedrooms, mostly. Old clothes, a study. More stairs."

"Oh." The house was sounding less haunted and more abandoned. "Did you go up the other stairs?"

She shook her head. "I tried. There's a loose step… somewhere. I tried to jump over it, but then I'm tumbling back down. After a while, I kind of gave up." She stared up at the ceiling, and her hood gave away a few inches. "I want to see the attic. I know there's something in there."

He followed her gaze and shuddered. This was sounding like a bad horror movie. They'd crawl up there and find a body and a murder plot or something. He was not up for that.

Raven hopped off the stool, grabbing his arm. She yanked him along, and he gargled a cry of protest.

"H—Hey!" He attempted to worm out of her grip. (She was strong!) "What—"

"You want to see the upstairs?" She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking into the darkness it gave way to. "Well come on."

He grimaced at it, still not quite sure whether or not to believe the ghost theory. It was growing more probable the more time he spent in the house. "Why?"

She huffed and stomped up the first few steps, opening her arms wide in an obvious gestures.

"The same reason you came into the house," she answered, turning her back to him as she continued up.

Gar's instincts were screaming at him to turn away from the crazy girl and head home. And yet…

It was more than his curious nature. It was the nature of the house, the girl, the entire ordeal. So, holding in a breath, he took the first step.


End file.
